Amid the Chaos
by estrafalaria103
Summary: When violence breaks out at Constance Billard, characters show their true colors. Heroes emerge, traitors are outted, relationships salvaged and destroyed. But in the end, the most important question: who will come out alive?
1. Chapter 1

_Violence at Constance Billard? You heard it here first. All bets are off, and that includes this girl. These are the shots being heard round the world, and for once I'm signing off. Turn on the TV, turn off the texts. _

_-GG_

Jenny Humphrey was used to being escorted to school. When she'd been younger, her mother had taken her. Hand in hand they would point excitedly at the beautifully dressed people meandering through Manhattan. When she'd gotten older, her brother had dropped her off before continuing on his own way. Then there had been that brief, disastrous time last year when Rufus had insisted on taking her in—the only way, he'd insisted, that he could be certain she actually got where she belonged.

Yes, she was used to being escorted. She was not, however, used to having her escort hang at her side, open-mouthed, as motionless as the statues in the Met just across the way.

"Dan, you can leave now. I can navigate the stairs alone," Jenny said pointedly.

"Can't go anywhere," Dan insisted. "Danger. It lurks, everywhere. In the bourgeouis purses, in the chandelier earrings. . ."

"If you're waiting for Serena, why don't you just meet her where you always do?" Jenny sighed. Dan had always been a little ridiculous, but really, this was pushing the line, even for him.

"Well, why don't you go on then?" Dan asked. Jenny had to admit that he had a point. After all, she hadn't exactly taken many steps herself. The truth was, ever since the debacle with Penelope, Jenny hadn't enjoyed heading into school without Eric. What a pair they made, she though with a sigh. Maybe all the Upper East Siders had a point. Maybe there _was_ something wrong with Brooklyn.

"What is this, a new art exhibit?" A snobby voice broke into her carefully crafted reverie. "Something avant garde from under the bridge?"

"Hello, Blair," Jenny said carefully.

"Wait, we're on speaking terms again?" Dan asked. He laughed, shortly. "Sorry, sometimes it's just so hard to keep track."

"Funny," Blair glared at him. Jenny shivered a little in her boots. How could something so tiny be so scary? She was very glad that today's little tirade wasn't directed at her. "Where's Serena, anyway? I _assume_ that's who you're waiting for?"

Before her brother had a chance to answer, a long black limo pulled up alongside the school.

"Ugh," Blair said, and began to move away. Jenny didn't blame her. Black limos at school usually meant trouble – trouble or Chuck, which weren't all that different, come to think of it. But as the door opened, a distinctly unmanly leg emerged, and suddenly the three were engulfed in a ball of sunshine.

"Hi, Dan!" Serena rolled into her boyfriends arms, locking lips before she'd even registered who else was there. "Blair, hi! Hi, Jenny."

"Hello," Blair said. Jenny was very glad to see another familiar face come out of the limo – Eric. She walked over to her best friend, glad to escape the drama that always surrounded the elite.

"Embracing material things?" she asked her friend. He smiled, shrugged, and nodded back toward the limo.

"No, just. . .Mom _finally_ realized that family takes some work. So that's what we're doing. Working on it."

Jenny laughed. "Riding around in one of Bart's limos. Looks tought."

"Yeah, well. . ." Eric trailed off at the sound of a car door shutting. Both he and Serena turned to stare at the limo as it slowly began to pull away from the curb. With a simultaneous "NO!" They both lunged at the car, Serena treacherously close to the front bumper.

"Oh, no you don't!" Serena screamed, banging on the door ineffectually. "You get out of there, right now!"

"I did not ride in that stinky limo for you to just ditch!" Eric said, pulling at the apparently locked door.

"What's going on?" Dan asked.

Serena dramatically spread her arms and legs, standing directly in front of the car. "It's a stand-off!" Serean cried. "You run me over or you get out!"

It was, indeed, a stand-off for several moments, as neither Serena nor the black limo moved. Then, slowly and deliberately, the back door opened and Chuck Bass stepped out.

Jenny surveyed him critically. A fashion disaster as always, with that bow tie. Really, she thought. What kind of a real man wears a paisly bow tie anyway?

"Why, sister," he drawled lowly. "If you want to play damsel in distress, come by my room, not the front of my car."

"No thanks, Chuck," Serena said, dropping her arms and going to stand by Dan once again.

"Waldorf," Chuck said, nodding at Blair. "Come to be part of my welcome back committee? How charming."

"The only thing anyone's going to be welcoming you to is hell, Bass," Blair said. With a flip of her hair she began heading toward school. "A moment, S? I have to discuss something with you."

Serena shrugged, glanced apoletically at Dan, and then flounced after her friend. Jenny rolled her eyes. Beside her, Eric laughed.

"Do you ever feel like we're in a weird time loop?" he asked as they began walking to school together. "Everyone fights, makes up, fights again, makes up again, over and over again."

"People succeed in the fashion world and then find themselves right back in high school again," Jenny nodded her head. "A time loop indeed."

"You'd think something would snap us out of it," he mused.

"Yeah," Jenny laughed. "Graduation."

"Well, that won't be happening if we don't get to class," Eric said with a laugh. "See you at lunch?"

He was back at school. She _supposed_ that was a good thing. She _supposed_ that she wanted him to heal. She _supposed_ she didn't really hate him.

Blair Waldorf was not used to supposing things. She was used to knowing them. Which was why Chuck Bass's returne presence at school was doing nothing more than freaking her out. As if it weren't enough seeing his shadow everywhere she went, Ms. Carr was also acting weirder than usual.

"Good morning, Ms. Waldorf," she said, brutal and brusque as always. But when Serena entered right behind her, she received only a curt nod, and the Shakespeare teacher hurried to the safety of her own desk.

"Suspicious," Blair murmured. Serena shrugged her shoulders, though her smile seemed tenuous at best.

"She must have just remembered something," she said.

"Yes, remembered her Iago personna," Blair agreed. "I smell betrayal."

"Well, I smell Chanel," Serena said, and said down, perhaps a bit huffily. Blair considered for a moment, and actually smelled the air.

"Hm," she said, before sitting beside her best friend. "Why, Watson, I do believe you have it!"

Class continued in the same vein. Carr seemed unusually nervous—even for her, and she'd never been the most stable of teachers, Blair thought critically. She seemed not to notice whenever Serena put her hand in the air—usually she called on Serena with a gleeful abandon. Something, Blair realized, was definitely going on. Carr being rude to her she could understand—not appreciate, but understand. But a snubbing of her former favorite student. . .that just reeked of something underhanded.

"Penelope," she whispered to one of her underlings. "I need the stats on Ms. Carr."

"But I have lunch next period," the other girl whined. Blair just glared at her.

"I said now," she growled. She couldn't keep the smile off her face when the other girl sighed, shoved her books into her purse and stood. Sometimes it was good to be the queen. The smile broadened. Who was she kidding? It was always good to be queen.

"B, what are you up to?" Serena asked. Blair just turned an ever-innocent gaze on her best friend.

"Nothing, dear," she said perkily. "Whatever would make you think that I was up to something?"

"Call it a hunch," Serena muttered. "I have to make a detour before music. Meet you there?"

Blair nodded, but when she turned down the hall toward the music classroom she saw an overly familiar figure heading toward her. "On second thought," she said, dashing back to Serena's side. "Really, we don't spend enough time together. I'll come with you."

"Um, you really don't want to do that," Serena said, avoiding Blair's eyes.

"Oh, yes I do," Blair said fervently. After all, the other direction lay disaster.

"My detour is to make out with Dan," Serena said bluntly. That was enough to actually stop Blair in her tracks. Which was the worse option? Brooklyn sucking face with someone _so_ much better than him or a Basshole?

"Hello, sister," Chuck's drawl came from behind her. How had he caught up to them so quickly?

"Hey, Chuck," Serena said, a resigned note in her voice. Realizing she wasn't going to get any face time with Humphrey, Blair thought, and despite the situation she found herself in, she did take a small note of joy from that fact.

"I just wanted to make certain that you could get yourself home today," Chuck said. "I have a matter that I must. . .attend to, and I fear that I will leave you without an escort home."

Blair rolled her eyes, even as Serena said, "I don't think so, Chuck. You're to stay in school. _Mummy's_ orders."

Chuck opened his mouth (undoubtedly to stick his foot straight into it, in Blair's mind) but before he could say a word a loud shot rang out from the courtyard.

"What was _that_?" Blair asked. A loud siren began wailing over head.

"And what is _that_?" Chuck complained, clasping his hands over his ears.

Suddenly students came pouring into the hall from the courtyard. Blair stared at them running by, panicked looks on everyone's faces. Headmistress Queller materialized in the hallways as though by magic.

"Please do not panic!" She yelled at the hordes of stampeding students. "Proceed calmly to the nearest classroom. Teachers, lock the doors behind you. Once again, there is no need to panic!"

Blair still couldn't move. Her feet were rooted to the ground. This was not the way her people reacted. The running, the ties undone, the hair flying around. . .this simply was not _done_ at Constance Billard. Let alone the droves of _boys _pounding through the girls' hallway.

Finally, a familiar face. Serena must have spotted him at the same moment, for she reached out and grabbed Nate Archibald as he dashed by.

"Nate, what's going on?" she asked. Nate glanced back outside, blue eyes wide with terror.

"There was a shot. . . a gun. . ." he gasped out. "Somebody out there is shooting at us!"


	2. Chapter 2

_**Sorry, sorry, SORRY for the loooooong wait between chapters. I got sick, and this just drifted to the wayside. But now that there is this HORRIBLE break until March, I figure that I might as well continue. (: Enjoy!**_

Eric couldn't understand how this had happened. He'd been standing in the courtyard, chatting with Jenny, just like every day. Penelope and Hazel had hurried by in a snit, complaining about whatever mission Blair had sent them out on, just like every other day. Nate was sitting by himself, texting away on his phone (Vanessa, probably) just like every day. And then some man, dressed in black (how cliched, a part of his mind registered) walked through the hallowed gates, took out a gun, and shot little Timothy Clearwater in the chest.

He'd been sitting right across from the other boy, perched on the edge of a table. Timothy had been laughing. He was a slight boy, smaller even than Eric. His hair was brown, his face anemic looking, his tie slightly off-center. He was just sitting there. Yellow shirt, striped tie, jacket. . .and then his face went white, a red flower blossomed on his shirt, and he toppled to the side.

"Oh my God," Jenny's hand was covering her mouth, her eyes wide, the too-dark eyeshadow looking more like a pair of bruises than ever before. "Oh my God. Oh my God."

Somebody running by hit Eric in the shoulder. A backpack stung at his hand. Jenny was still standing there, repeating the same litany over and over again.

"Oh my God. Oh my god."

Somewhere, among the confusion, somebody screamed "RUN!" It was enough, as Eric grabbed Jenny's arm and began pulling her through the confusion. He thought he heard the report of another shot being fired. He prayed he was wrong.

They had just entered the school when Jenny stopped him. "Wait!" she said. "My brother! Dan! Where's Dan?"

"I'm sure he's in here somewhere," Eric said, frantically pulling at his friend. "Dan isn't stupid. He'd know enough to run."

"Obviously you don't know my brother," Jenny muttered, but let him pull her into a classroom already filled with other terrified students.

"Why are you just standing there?" Nate screamed, in a somewhat girly fashion, Blair thought. He grabbed Serena's arm and began physically towing her away from the courtyard. "Are you all crazy?"

"As if anyone would really shoot in Constance Billard," Blair sniffed.

"Another drama department stunt," Chuck agreed. "Common."

The horde of students seemed never to end. Blair watched in amazement as still more blue skirts and yellow shirts went flying by.

"On the other hand," Blair said slowly. . .

"I never have enjoyed the drama theatrics," Chuck agreed. As if with one mind, their hands connected and they spun on their heels to follow the mass exodus. Before they had the chance, however, a panicked elbow connected with Chuck's nose and a flying purse sent Blair sprawling to the ground.

"Unnecessary roughness!" Chuck yelled after the disappearing student. He knelt to help Blair up.

"This is really ridiculous," Blair complained. "I almost hope there is a real gun. Otherwise what's the point?"

Even as she finished the sentence another shot rang out. She could almost feel the blood draining from her face, and when she turned to look at Chuck his face was equally white. A shadow darkened the opaque glass – a tall man, thickly built. Blair's mouth dropped open. She heard a little sobbing gasp, and realized with a tinge of horror that she was on the verge of hysteria.

"Oh my God, oh my God," she whispered. Were her feet moving yet? Was she running? Because she really should be running away at this point.

"Waldorf," Chuck hissed in her ear. "Waldorf, let's go!"

But she was moving, wasn't she? She glanced down at her feet. No, still mired to the floor. Another little hiccup escaped her lips.

"Blair!" Chuck growled now, and grabbed her arm just above the elbow. She could feel his fingers digging in, could sense that they would leave bruises. And still her feet weren't moving.

"Ch-Ch-Ch," She stuttered to say his name. The figure had reached out a hand, was turning the knob. She squeezed her eyes shut. They were going to die. This was it. The Queen B's reign was at an end, cut drastically short by – she opened one eye. The pressure on her arm was gone.

"Chuck?" the voice was a squeak now, barely audible. Had he left her? Really? Suddenly her feet found that connection to her brain again, as they began stepping backwards. That _Basshole!_

But as suddenly as the grip had disappeared from her arm, hands suddenly encircled her waist. Her diaphragm collapsed as Chuck unceremoniously lugged her into the classroom just behind them. The science lab, to be precisely.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Blair hissed as one of his hands (accidently, maybe, given the circumstances, but still!) brushed against her left breast.

"Blair, shut up!" Chuck hissed. She looked at him, and the panic that had seized her earlier reappeared abruptly. His mask was gone now, completely gone. His eyes were wider than she'd ever seen them, his hairline damp with sweat. He dropped to his knees, and crawled under one of the sink sets against the wall. He looked up at her from his little huddle, reached up a hand to her.

Well, dignity might have escaped her once, but now that she felt slightly more protected by the additional door, she certainly was going to remember her place! She dropped to her knees herself, ignoring Chuck's hand. Still. . .she eyed one of the other alcoves suspiciously. She heard the door to the courtyard bang closed. She took a deep breath to calm herself, and then scurried into Chuck's alcove.

There wasn't much space, and after an uncomfortable moment squeezing her back in, she gave up and collapsed into Chuck. His arm's encircled her, his chin rested on her head. They were shaking. Was he shaking, or was she?

Footsteps down the hallway.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," Blair couldn't seem to stop the litany of whispered words pouring out of her mouth. Chuck's hand, moist and dank with fright, covered her mouth, cutting off not only the words but also her air supply.

"Shut up, please, just shut up," he said, and she could almost hear the tears in his voice.

Footsteps continued, close enough that she could hear the unechoed ting against the linoleum. Right outside the door then.

At least, Blair thought, if she was going to die, she would do so held tightly in the arms of a man. A conniving, scheming, womanizing, heartless excuse for a man, but still. . .there was something romantic in the gesture. She pressed a gentle kiss to the hand still covering her mouth. If Chuck noticed her gave no sign.

The footsteps paused. Paused outside there door. She heard a gun cock. Or maybe it was the doorknob being turned. Or maybe. . .

A stifled sob escaped. She caught her breath, praying it hadn't been heard, praying to a God she wasn't sure that she believed in that the man outside the door continued on, that he assumed no one had ducked into the room, so close to the courtyard. But, strain though she might, she didn't hear the footsteps continue.

* * * *

"Nate, stop!" Serena tried to pull her arm out of her grasp, but caught tight in his own panic, Nate didn't seem to notice. People were running by on all sides, and she tried to see a familiar face. The sharp cheekbones of a Humphrey. . .the bouncing curls of Blair. . .even Chuck's insidious leer. . .but as far as she could tell, it was just her, Nate, and every other student who _wasn't_ one of her friends.

She tripped a little as Nate towed upstairs. Where were Chuck and Blair? They'd been right behind her. . .Dan had been in the courtyard. . .was Nate right? Was someone really shooting? Couldn't it maybe just be some kind of a prank?

She tripped again. Had these steps always been so uneven?

Wait a second – steps? Seriously?

"Nate!" Serena screamed, and this time managed to whip her arm so strongly that he lost grip, and tumbled a little, catching himself on the handrail. Blue eyes blazed at her, caught between being wounded and terrified.

"Serena, what—"

"Why are we going upstairs?" Serena said. Her shoulder was jostled by another student, but the stream seemed to be ending. "We're going to be trapped!"

"Oh. . ." Nate glanced upstairs, some slight semblance of reason returning to his face. "Oh, yeah. I guess we should head toward a door."

"Come on," Serena sighed. She headed downstairs. She hadn't heard anything since that first shot. Maybe it had all been some kind of a bizarre stunt. The drama department had done something similar the previous year, setting off small firecrackers in all of the bathrooms. They'd had a day off as the bomb squad investigated.

Just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, however, another shot sounded, back in the direction they'd first run from. Nate instantly turned and started up the stairs again, stopping only when Serena yanked on his blazer.

"Outside," she ground out between her teeth. "_Not_ upstairs."

"R-right," Nate ground out slowly.

Although the boy seemed to have calmed down again, Serena wasn't quite willing to let go of his sweater. After all, the Archibald's didn't exactly have a history of sticking around during stressful times. And, though she'd rather be with Dan, or Blair, or Eric, even Chuck, she'd have to make do with Nate.

They could still hear the screams of other students, and the pounding of feet heading around the school, but show none as they headed toward the service exit (Serena forgot who had shown her the door used for kitchen deliveries. . .maybe probably Pete. She knew he'd shown her the equipment room under the bleachers. . .and the empty janitor's closet between the staff and girl's bathrooms. . .and for that matter, the weird room on the second floor that had nothing more than a couch in it. . .and why was she thinking of Pete Sempras at a moment like this, anyway?!?!?) .

"Where are we going?" Nate whispered in her ear.

"Away from guns and panicked students," Serena whispered back. She felt a momentary pang of guilt as they arrived at the kitchen. She really wished she knew where her brother and friends were. She offered a quick prayer that they escape before she opened the door.

And found herself staring straight into green eyes, set deeply within a mask.

The unmistakeable click of a gun.

"Oops," Nate whispered.

Oh yes, Serena realized as she closed her eyes. Oops.

_**Ooh, the danger! Serena, Nate, Blair, and Chuck, all facing gunmen! But what have they come for? Stay tuned!!!**_

_**T.S.A.M – I do love the Van der Basses. Unfortunately they'll be separated for a while.**_

_**Underthestarsx – Yes. Chair. Always.**_

_**BrittyKay247 and Dee, thanks for the reviews! Hope you keep reading!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Okay, I can't help it. SOMEBODY has to be funny in each chapter. Or the drama just gets to be too much! Last chapter it was Chuck and Blair. This chapter, Dan takes a turn. Because hey. Why not. **_

The world erupted into a tidal wave of fear.

Dan Humphrey shook his head, erased the line.

The world came crashing down, heaven and hell colliding and sending mortals scurrying.

Dan Humphrey shook his head, erased the line.

It was the shot heard round the world – or at least round Constance Billard and St. Jude.

Dan Humphrey shuddered as he erased _that_ line – a little too much of Gossip Girls' bite in it.

Writer's block. Damn it. He took the momentary pause to glance up again from where he was nestled behind the rhodendron's decorating the courtyard connecting the two schools. From between the leaves he could still see the two men, clad entirely in black, who stood, backs against their walls, just outside the school's exit. Still no escape.

He'd been in the courtyard when the men had entered, waiting for Serena. Consequently, he'd been hidden in the dark shadows (ever since Pete Sempras had been caught with two girls in a janitor's closet, PDA had been strictly frowned upon at school). He'd been in the courtyard when one of the men took out a gun and shot that freshman kid, Timothy, Dan thought his name was. But while everyone else had panicked and run into the school, he'd sunk down lower behind the bushes.

He felt relatively safe – they men weren't even bothering with a cursory look through the courtyard. But neither were they running through the school with guns blazing. It seemed almost as though there were something very specific they were looking for. And that something was definitely _not_ hiding behind rhododendrons. Making Dan possibly the safest person in the building.

He wasn't one to panic. He'd remained quiet. He'd set his phone to silent, texted his father, Vanessa, telling them to call the police. He'd considered texting Gossip Girl, for the sheer irony of it, but ultimately dismissed it. A boy was dead. There was really no humor in the situation.

He'd heard, once upon a time, that intense situations spark intense emotion. He'd been hoping it would also spark intense inspiration, but the tendrils of nervousness and fear kept creeping through his stomach, whenever he considered how those men, dressed in cliched black, walked through the hallowed gates, took out a gun, and shot little Timothy Clearwater in the chest.

That was it! His eyes widened in inspiration. Pen met paper again, and he began ferociously to write.

* * * *

Chuck's eyes were squeezed closed. Blair wouldn't know, the hand covering her mouth also kept her from peering up at him. But with every little sob, every hiccup that might give away where they were, he felt the desire to drop that hand and strangle her.

Chuck Bass would _not_ die huddled under a sink.

That little click – was that it? Was that the doorknob turning. He pressed his hand tighter to Blair's mouth. Her lips were pressed tight to his palm, and he could have sworn that he felt them press gently. Blair? Kissing him? The panic must be really getting to his brain.

That was it. Definitely. The slight creak of the door opening. Before Blair could utter a sob—that one that was inevitable, the one he knew was coming, even if she didn't—he encircled her entire body with his free arm. His back screamed in protest at the uncomfortable posture. It didn't matter. If the comfort kept Blair quiet, if it kept them alive, he could pay for a thousand dollar massage later.

A footstep. One, two. Chuck held his breath. From the tightness of Blair's body, he could tell that she was holding hers, too. She hadn't cried again. She just sank into his body.

Another footstep.

"I'm going to search this room," a growled voice, low and gravelly. Chuck felt a sudden pain in his hand. Like teeth. . .like Blair was biting him. . .tears sprang to his eyes, he bit his lip. Doubled pain. . .why did that make it easier not to cry out?

"Don't bother," not a voice this time, the static crackle of a walkie talkie. "Don caught two of them."

"Then Don can shoot two of them," the bear voice said again, still angered. "Unless he has Bass."

A pause. Then, static crackle. "Almost as good. He's got the girl. . .Van der Woodsen. And that money-laundering friend of his. Archibald."

The feet paused in their pacing. Chuck heard a laugh, as low and malicious as the voice. Then the feet resumed their steady walk, the walk from the hallway. Thankfully, they walked out of the room. Chuck didn't let out his breath until he heard the dull thump of the door hitting the door frame.

In his arms, Blair was trembling, a constant shake, like a deer, startled in the woods.

One.

Two.

Three.

He almost couldn't hear the footsteps anymore.

Four.

Five.

Six.

There was no sound now, but for his and Blair's breathing. Still. Better safe than sorry.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Slowly, he released his arms, and scooted cautiously out of the little alcove. Blair grasped at him for a moment before seeming to remember herself. She crawled out after him.

Chuck examined his hand. Small drop of blood had gathered in the center. He brushed them away, not surprised to see the little puncture marks of perfect teeth.

"I'm sorry," Blair whispered as he caressed his hand. "I was so scared."

"It's okay," Chuck said. He couldn't meet her gaze. His own eyes were filled with tears, red-rimmed, he was sure. He took a long, steadying breath.

"They have Serena and Nate," Blair said. She put a hand on his arm. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Chuck said.

"Why do they want you?"

"I don't know," he repeated.

"Do you think they'll hurt them?"

"I don't know," Chuck said, louder than he should have. He looked up finally. Blair was staring at him, composed and perfect. He looked a wreck, but she seemed to have recovered. Her back straightened.

"We have to do something," she said. She glanced around the room. Chuck didn't seem the have the energy to do the same. Hadn't she heard what that man had said? Wasn't it obvious what he had to do? Or rather, what he _should_ do. He wasn't sure that he'd have the strength. Those men had guns. In his seventeen years, he'd never even _seen_ a gun.

He studied her face. She was biting her lip, her eyebrows scrunched together, that delicious little wrinkle forming in her forehead. Had he ever told her about that wrinkle? Probably not. He still had all of his body parts.

Her eyes were frozen, on something just over his shoulder. Slowly her teeth released her lip.

"The window," she turned her gaze to meet his own eyes. "The window, Chuck!" She grasped his shoulders, standing on tip toe so that they were almost the same height. "We can get out the window! We can escape and get help!"

Before he could respond, the intercom crackled. The noise startled both of them, as they stepped closer to one another. The top of Blair's head bumped against his chin as they both looked up.

"Hello students. As you may have noticed, all of the exits have been blocked. As you may have noticed, we are all armed. And as seven of you have _definitely_ noticed, those guns work."

Seven. Chuck gulped. Did that mean seven deaths? Did those include Serena and Nate?

Was it all his fault? Those men had mentioned his name.

Were people dying because of _him_?

_Why??_

_**Yes, indeed, Chuck, why? What did happen to Serena and Nate? Where are Jenny and Eric? What did Vanessa and Rufus do upon getting that text? And, most pressing of all. . .does Dan Humphrey have grass stains? Because you KNOW he can't afford to get them cleaned, living in a MASSIVE loft in Brooklyn. (:**_

**_BrittyKay -- yes, people get shot. Yes, people die. _**

**_Chairbuck -- I also love Serena. I actually think she's too amazing and self-possessed for any of the loonies on this show. Can't promise that means she'll make it through unscathed, though._**

**_TSAM, Danielle, thanks for the reviews!_**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Gotta love winter break. Lots of time for writing. (: Anyway, I'm seeing if I can get this finished before the grind begins again on Monday. Say a prayer that the dedication continues!**_

"Oops?" the masked man echoed Nate's words, shook his head back and forth. "Kids these days. Really kill me." Another chuckle. "Or, better said. . .I kill _them_."

"Nate, I'm so sorry," Serena gasped. The man lifted his gun, pointed it at Serena's head.

Nate giggled, high-pitched and panicked. "Just think, Serena," he said. "This is Chuck's first day back in weeks. Aren't you glad you made him come?"

"Wait just a minute there. . ." the man grabbed Serena's arm and pulled her harshly to his side. She didn't even bother to struggle. His grip was tight, strong, nothing like Nate's earlier. She knew she wouldn't escape from him. The gun, meanwhile, was turned toward Nate.

"What are your names?" the man growled, sounding much less amused now.

"Serena Van der Woodsen," Serena said lowly. Nate made a strange "eep!" sound before saying his own name.

"Van der Woodsen. . ." the man seemed to chew that over. His fingers dug even deeper in Serena's skin. Tears sprung to her eyes. "Your mom married Bass."

"Yes," Serena said. Short sentences, one syllable words. She could not cry, she would not. Nate, on the other hand, seemed to feel no such compunction, as two perfect tears fell down his cheek.

"Ed!" The man barked out. "Plans changed. Let Ralph know we have these two." He stuck the butt of the gun into Nate's back, low down. The boy grunted in surprise. "Your office has an intercome, right?' the man asked.

"Yes," Serena said. Slow, steady breaths. And avoid looking at the gun. Oh, God, there it was, she looked. She glanced up at the ceiling, steadied herself by counting tiles.

"All right," the man grunted. He nudged Nate again. "Lead on, then, pretty boy."

"To where?"

"The office," Serena whispered. The man nodded his head, and abruptly whipped the gun around so that it made a solid contact with Nate's cheek. Serena winced at the dull sound it made as it cracked against bone. Nate gasped and stumbled.

"Let's go," the man said, his voice entirely unchanged. Serena looked back at the ceiling. Please, Nate, she thought. Please, just do what he says. Just take him where he wants to go.

Nate apparently felt the same way, and though he walked with one hand clapped over her cheek, he walked. And he did head to the office. Several times Serena saw the scared faces of students, peering out from behind closed doors. The gunman must have seen them, too, but he seemed not to care. He was entirely focused on them.

Twice they heard gunshots and screams, both times from exits to the school. They were completely surrounded, Serena realized. She'd counted 127 ceiling tiles.

"This is it," Nate muttered lowly. Serena brought her gaze down from the ceiling. Sure enough, they were standing outside of the office. She saw several scared faces peeking out from behind desks. She didn't know most of them – _why_ didn't she know most of them? They all went to school together. . .shouldn't she know all of them? What kind of a person had she been that she didn't know the other students at her own school??

"Intercom," the man grunted. Nate, still playing the role of perfect hostage, gestured toward the microphone. It stood in its own holder on the immaculate desk of Ms. Hornby, the schools' general secretary. Who, Serena noticed with no small bit of disdain, was nowhere to be found. Nor were any of the other adults at the school. The Headmistress had been in the hallways earlier. But what of the other teachers? Where was Ms. Carr at this vital moment?

A movement behind her. Serena didn't bother to look. More of the masked men. She could tell by the smell of leather and diesel – nothing like the soft fragrances of teenagers.

The man pressed the intercom button, waited for the static sound, and then began to speak.

"Hello students. As you may have noticed, all of the exits have been blocked. As you may have noticed, we are all armed. And as seven of you have _definitely_ noticed, those guns work."

"Seven?" A girl squashed beneath a desk squeaked. The man glared out her, pointed the gun, and shot. Serena jerked back, two steps, and collided with one of the men behind her. She gulped back the fear. Nate was trembling beside her.

"Okay, make that eight," the man chuckled a little. Actually laughed!

"No need to make that nine," the man said. "You see, little boys and girls, we just need one thing. Charles Bass. Turn him over to us, and nobody else needs to die."

He paused for a moment, seeming to consider. He looked over, his dead eyes meeting Serena's own. It was hard to see him now through the mist of tears that had crept up. He jerked his hand, gesturing for her and Nate to join him by the intercom.

"And Charles, if you're listening. . .we've already decided who the next two will be."

Roughly he grabbed the hair at the back of Serena's head, pushed her face down so that her lips hovered just over the microphone.

"Please. . ." Serena gasped. She knew that the man wanted her to speak, she wasn't an idiot, but she couldn't figure out what he wanted her to say. "Please. . .just let us go."

Pressure at the back of her scalp and she was pulled roughly back from the microphone. A small cry escaped her lips. Nate's head was pushed down where hers had been just a moment before.

"Chuck," Nate paused and licked his lips. "Chuck, these guys are serious. You gotta get out of—"

Before he could finish the man backslapped him with the gun again, this time the opposite cheek. Nate fell back against the desk, crying out as his side connected with one of the sharp corners before tumbling to the floor. Serena dropped to her knees beside him, tenderly brushing his injured cheek.

"There you go, Bass," the man growled. "We'll be in the office. You've got one hour, then the bitch dies. Nice talking to y'all."

And with that, he pushed the off button.

* * * * *

Rufus was staring at the girl with a _very_ great degree of uncertainty. He'd be the first to admit that the coffee shop had charm, and during bigger showings it earned its keep. But really? Fresh pastries?

"Look, my sister has some amazing recipes," Vanessa said earnestly. Her phone beeped, and Rufus glanced over at it. Maybe if she got distracted she would forget about her new hair-brained idea. But the girl just shook her head. "Never mind, I'll get it later. Look, Rufus, the costs wouldn't even be that great. We can bake at your loft, and then just bring them over here."

"I just don't think it's necessary," Rufus said. This time both his phone and Vanessa's beeped. He glanced at it. That was weird. Didn't phone usually ring?

"It's a text," Vanessa explained at his confused look. "You know. Like an e-mail."

"Oh, yeah, of course," Rufus said. He shrugged it off. He knew what a text was, afer all. He wasn't _that_ behind the times. "I just don't get it," he said, an almost plaintive tone to his voice. "Why send messages when you can just talk?"

"I don't know," Vanessa said, giggling a little. She picked up her phone, and Rufus let out a long sigh. Disaster averted. No pastries.

"Oh, no," Vanessa breathed out. "R-Rufus. Check that text."

Rufus glanced at her, brows furrowed, but did as she said. He picked up the phone, clicked the center button, and briefly read the message.

-Shootings at school. Men in black. Call police ASAP.

"From Dan?" Rufus took a minute to process. His stomach dropped, seemed to disappear, and he had to grab a chair to steady himself. "A shooting? At St. Jude's?"

Vanessa reacted more quickly than he had, and had already punched 911 into the phone. Rufus sat down. Dan was okay, then. . .but what about Jenny? His little baby girl. . .was she okay? He punched in her number for speed dial.

"No!" Vanessa screamed, seeming to notice what he was doing. She swatted the phone out of his hands. It made a dull, splintering sound as it hit the floor, the battery bouncing free from the rest of the body. Rufus looked up at her, his face slack.

Vanessa glared at him. "Don't call _anyone_," she hissed, before returning to her own phone. "I'm sorry," she said. "Constance Billard and St. Jude's, on the upper east side. . .I don't know, I'm not there. . .I got a text from a friend there. . .did you hear what I _said_? A shooting!. . .Yes, I can hold."

She covered the mouthpiece, and turned to face Rufus again. He was still sitting, still not moving. "They're sending some officers over," Vanessa said. Rufus continued to stare at the phone. "I'm sorry," she said. "But I figured you were calling Dan, or Jenny. Rufus, if he could, Dan would have called the police himself. He wouldn't have sent a text. They must be hiding."

"Oh no," Rufus whispered, finally realizing what he'd almost done. If Jenny were hiding from those bastards, her cell phone would have given her away. A thought suddenly occured to him, and he scrabbled for the phone parts scattered across the floor.

"Rufus, did you listen to anything I just said?" Vanessa said angrily as he put the battery back in, and slid the cover on top.

"I'm not calling the kids," he said shortly. "I'm calling Lily. Her children are there, too."

Vanessa nodded, and returned her attention to the phone, giving out her personal information in staccato little blasts.

Rufus tried to keep calm as the phone rang. Step one, tell Lily. Step two, get in a cab to the upper east side – not that he knew what he would do when he got there.

"Hello," a melodic voice answered the voice. Rufus didn't bother with niceties.

"Lily. There's been a shooting."

_**Ellie-Mae – I agree. On the one hand, I want to give Dan a good whack. On the other hand. . .write what you know, eh?**_

_**Pincky – my apologies, no answer to where Eric is in this chapter. Next one, I promise. And have no fear. . .Ms. Carr will make another appearance, as well. As much as I hate her. **_

_**Liz – More van der Bassness coming up, promises. Might take a while to get there, but agree. The family dynamic there is superb. Sometimes it seems like Serena and Erik are the only ones with real human hearts on the shot.**_

_**Steph – thanks so much! Often it seems like people only want to read about their "ships." I'm glad you're enjoying the overall story!**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Wow. This might just be my favorite chapter yet. Lots of secondary characters. An unexpected hero. Loyalty in the face of almost certain death. And a frightening cliffhanger if I do say so myself. Yes indeed, things are heating up. Enjoy!**_

Hazel was really having a bad day. First the dry cleaner hadn't returned her shirts, so she'd been forced to wear a cream shirt to school instead of the standard white. Cream. Really. Then the cook had burned her toast – as if it were hard to make toast. She probably could have made it better herself. It was _so_ hard to get good help.

Then Chuck Bass had to return to school. Which wasn't bad in itself – Hazel was never one to complain about eye candy, and despite (or maybe because of) the bad boy rep, Chuck was a fine piece to check out. It did, however, mean that Blair was in a snit, and that _never_ made for a good day.

Then she'd run into Pete Sempras making out with Nelly Yuki. And sure, she knew Pete wasn't exactly that most _steady_ of guys, and they'd never said that they were _exclusive_ – but God, she'd figured after getting caught with him last week she had _some_ claim on him. And besides – Nelly Yuki? Really??

And that was all before second period. When Penelope had come complaining about having to get _information_ and dragging her along. And then those gun shots, and all of the running – she'd actually _perspired_. Maybe it was for the best that her white shirts had been out. At least they wouldn't be stained.

So now here she was. Stuck with about twenty other students in the smelly boys bathroom. Why couldn't Penelope have had the good sense to have gone into the _girls_ bathrooms.

"Could you pass the paper towel?" a frightened voice asked. Hazel sighed, rolled her eyes, and passed the paper towel without even looking to see who was talking. She held out the towel, still without looking.

It wasn't that she didn't understand how _serious_ the situation was. There were guns, people had been shot, and yes, it was all horrible and sucky. But it had been almost half an hour now that they'd been sitting in the bathroom, and other than that _horrible_ interom announcement, there had been nothing. Just boredom. For all they knew Chuck had turned himself in and those men had left. Wait a second. . .

"Hey," Hazel said, her voice breaking the tension in the room. Everyone instantly hushed her. Even Ms. Carr, who was standing near the just barely-open door, turned to glare at her.

"Sorry," Hazel continued, her voice half a decibel lower. "But I was just thinking. . .nothing's really happened in a while. . .maybe somebody should go out and check. I mean, we could have been hiding in here for no reason."

"Yeah," Penelope agreed, seeming to read the pattern of her friends thoughts. "And it smells gross in here. Seriously. What do you guys _do_ in here?"

"Ask Hazel," one of the boys snorted. "She knows."

Ew. Hazel looked at him. One of the lacrosse boys. Did she even _know_ him? He was kind of cute. . .maybe she did know him. Clearly taste had been thrown to the winds at the school.

"Well. . ." Ms. Carr actually seemed to be considering the idea. "Maybe somebody should head out. If only to send a message to the police."

Nobody moved. Hazel looked expectantly at the young woman guarding the door. After all, she was the _teacher_. Wasn't it her job to take care of the students, to protect them against all danger, whether it be a bully or a whole load of gun-toting hoodlums? Nonetheless, the young teacher showed no intention of leaving the bathroom.

"Oh, this is just ridiculous!" Iz said suddenly, standing. Her heels clinked on the tile of the bathroom. She reached down and snatched her purse off the dingy floor, and carefully maneuvered her way across the crowded room. "Excuse me," she said pointedly to Ms. Carr.

"Um, Iz," Penelope said, an almost sardonic tone to her voice. "When we said somebody should check it out we meant somebody _else_."

"Yeah," Hazel agreed. "Somebody who isn't so important."

"Whatever," Iz said. "You all huddle in there. I'll call the police. I'll check to see if we're safe. Heaven forbid that anything get done around here. Honestly."

The girl almost stormed out. Hazel and Penelope stared at each other. This was a side to Iz that they hadn't even known existed. Blair was the queen, Penelope was the bitch, Nelly was the brain, Hazel was the butt (of every joke, that was) and Iz was the beauty. She didn't exactly have to talk much, and she usually didn't.

"You know," Hazel said pointedly to Penelope as she fiddled with her useless cell. "The _girls'_ bathroom has full cell service."

Penelope rolled her eyes.

* * * *

How many of these guys _were _there? Jenny couldn't help thinking. She was seated at the back of one of the history rooms, her sweaty hand tightly entertwined with Erik's. They darted in at Mr. Henry's suggestion. The history teacher had gathered several students at the far back of the room, out of the sight of windows, locked the door, and turned off the lights in the hope that the gunmen would just pass it by. Though initially it had seemed to work, the gunmen seemed to have arrived at a new strategy after the announcement. Five minutes ago two had broken down the door and entered, and were now busy questioning each student.

"What are you going to tell them?" Erik asked her, his eyes never leaving the path of the gunmen.

"What do you mean?" Jenny asked. "My name, that I don't know where Chuck is. . .the same as everyone."

"Yeah," Erik agreed. Jenny turned to look at him. His face was as white as the wall beside him, and Jenny realized with a shot in her heart how horrible this must be for him. His sister had been kidnapped, apparently as a ploy to catch his stepbrother. His stepbrother. . .a sick feeling suddenly gripped Jenny's body, and she turned to grasp his shoulder with her free hand.

"Erik," she said desperately. "Erik, you're going to lie, right? You're going to say you're someone else, right?"

He didn't respond, just bit his lower lip and continued to stare ahead. Jenny sighed. On the one hand if he said who he was he'd be taken to Serena. On the other hand he'd have a gun pointed at his head. The men right now weren't being terribly threatening. . .the one just guarding the door while the other questioned. Things could be worse, and, she knew, would be a lot worse if her best friend spilled who he was.

Too shortly one of the men came to stand in front of them. He nudged his gun at Erik's foot.

"Name?" he asked. Jenny took a deep breath. Please, lie, please, please, _please_ lie.

"Erik Van der Woodsen," Erik responded. The man with the gun froze.

"Don't move," he said, and turned to face Jenny, though she noted that the gun still pointed at her best friend.

"Jenny Humphrey," she said, before he even had a chance to ask. "And I don't know where Chuck is, and Erik doesn't know, either, and you already have his sister, and. . ."

The man kicked her in the leg. She screamed once, short, and then tried to stifle it. Her leg hurt. The man pointed the gun at Erik. "Come with me."

Jenny brushed away tears as the man led her best friend out of the door. The other one, the one who had been standing at the front of the room the entire time, remained there. She brushed a tear away.

When was this nightmare going to end? Another tear. Another.

The door slammed open, and Jenny looked up, hope rising in her chest despite her attempt to will it away.

"Found another one," another voice said from just outside.

"So shoot her," said the guard in their room.

"Come on, Ed," said the voice from outside. "She's just a kid. Shooting her ain't going to get us any closer to Bass."

"Fine," said the guard. A body was abruptly thrown into the room. Jenny's eyes widened in surprise as Isabel Coates' slowly stood up, glaring at the slowly closing door. She straightened her skirt before stalking to the back of the room, completely ignoring the man at the front of the room who kept a gun trained on her the entire time.

"Iz?" Jenny whispered in amazement. "What were you doing in the hallway?"

"Saving us all," Iz said nonchalantly. She opened her purse, pulled out a stick of lipgloss, and began applying it liberally to her lips. She stared at the man with a gun across the way. "I called the police. They said they've already been notified. Squad cars are pulling up in front of the building as we speak."

Jenny stared at the other girl in wonder. Iz, for her part, just rolled her eyes, smacked her lips, and replaced the lipstick.

"You're welcome," she said smugly.

* * * * *

Static grumbled on the man – Don, Serena though his name was – and he reached down to grab his walkie.

"Cops are here," a voice ground out. Serena's head jerked up at that. She was still sprawled on the floor, huddled with Nate. She could still see the dead girl's hand peeking out from around the corner.

The police – they'd be saved! She tried to fight the smile on her face, but couldn't quite keep it away. From the corner of her eye she could see Nate, not even trying to keep his joy and relief concealed.

"Damn it," Don said. He stalked over to the intercom, turned it on again.

"All right, Bass, time's up," he said. "We've been patient long enough. One minute, than either your sister or your friend dies. Tick-tock, Bass."

He turned to face Serena and Nate. "All right then," he said slowly. "Which one is it going to be?"

_**Things are not looking good for S and N. Where is Chuck, by the way? Did he crawl out that window with Blair? Never took a Bass to be a coward, but it has been a while since that announcement.**_

_**Meanwhile, what are the cops doing? Just chilling? I mean really. And my apologies for the hating on Ms. Carr. Actually, no, I don't apologize. She is disgusting and immoral. Hate.**_

_**Thanks for all of the reviews! It's always wonderful to know that one is being read. Makes it easier to keep going! Motivation!**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Well, if the last chapter was my favorite, this is my least favorite. I love Chuck and Blair on the show, but I've got to be honest – they don't do serious situations all that well. And then there's a Dan appearance. . .and I think we all know about my vast love for Dan.**_

Blair luxuriated in the tub, slowly lifting one leg out of the water and trailing her fingers down the smooth skin. She leaned back, picked up a glass of champagne from the stand beside, sipped, closed her eyes. The heat rising from the hot water bathed her face in a light shine. From just outside the room she could hear the vacuum as Dorota cleaned, and just above that the sound of the television.

"Police have arrived on the scene and are trying to make contact with the men inside. Several students have escaped, among them one Dan Humphrey, who is willing to share with us some of what is going on inside Constance Billard . . ."

Oh, yes, the attacks. . .those seemed so long ago. . .so good that she'd escaped, and could now enjoy a warm bath. She didn't even have to worry about her friends. . .Serena and Nate were camped out downstairs, watching TV, and as for Chuck. . .

"Sirens? The police?" Chuck's voice (and leg) broke her out of her daydream as he pulled himself up to stare out the window. Right, Blair though rather bitchily. In a fit of indecision following the intercom announcement, Chuck had refused to leave. He also hadn't had the balls to turn himself in, though, so they were still sitting in the science lab. Still.

"Thank God," Blair said. She stretched out her leg. They'd look so much better in a bath. . .Before she could stand, they heard the familiar crackle of the intercom above.

"We've been patient long enough. One minute, than either your sister or your friend dies. Tick-tock, Bass."

Something inside her died. Over the past half hour, as nothing had happened, her panic had disappeared, but with the man's words it returned tenfold. Serena, shot, and it would be her fault as much as Chuck's. After all, she could turn him in. She could save her friend. . .she turned to look at the familiar face beside her. The planes and angles that she knew so well.

"I can't go," Chuck said flatly. Blair nodded her head. She didn't feel anything now. Nothing at all.

"Maybe they don't want to kill you," Blair said. "Maybe they just. . ."

"Want to talk to me," Chuck mused. "Unlikely, Waldorf."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes, looked up at the ceiling. Stomped his foot a little. Blair couldn't take her eyes off of him. He rubbed furiously at his eyes. Paced, all with his eyes still closed. She reached out a hand. He was making a strange, strangled noise deep in his throat. She touched his shoulder.

"Chuck," she said. He didn't open his eyes, but he stopped the pacing and the suffocating noise. "Chuck, you don't have to do this alone."

"Actually, Blair, I rather do," Chuck said, and now he did open his eyes. "It was, after all, _my _ name that they called on the loudspeaker."

"But we're both in this," Blair insisted. "I could turn you in, too, you know."

Chuck stared at her, his eyes burning into hers, a darker brown than she could remember seeing them since his father's funeral. "I think you should." Chuck said. He took a step closer to her, lifted a tendril of hair. "I think you sould turn me in, Blair."

She jerked her head back, terrified, though she wasn't sure if it was just the situation with the gunmen, or if it was Chuck's proximity. "Don't be ridiculous, Bass." She said shortly. "We'll figure something out. Obviously they're feeling pressure – the police are just outside. We can wait this out."

The intercom crackled on again. "All right, Bass, you've called our bluff." A second later a gunshot went off. Blair and Chuck both froze, rooted to the spot by the loud sound and the silence that followed.

"That's one down," the voice said. "One to go."

"Oh no," Blair whispered. A tear tracked down her face. "Oh, no. Serena. . .Nate. . ."

Chuck's shoulders slumped. He reached out tentatively, almost touched Blair's shoulder, but something stopped him. "Blair," he said, and his voice was broken and cracking. "Blair, I need you to do something for me. I need your help. Please."

And right there were two things she'd never imagined Chuck Bass doing. Asking for help, or saying please. The last time she remembered him saying _that_ magic word was the Black and White Party, when he begged her not to leave with Marcus. She'd refused him then. She didn't think she could now.

"Anything," she whispered, trying to catch his gaze, but he seemed to have found something fascinating in the floor.

"I need you to turn me in." Blair was ready to protest, to tell him how stupid he was being—they had no proof that the gunmen would let Serena or Nate go, whichever one – whichever one was still alive – and she didn't think she could bear the thought of him being killed, regardless of what an asshole he'd been. But she didn't say anything. She let him finish.

"Blair, I don't have the strength to do it myself," he said, still in the horrible whispered tone. "I'm not a hero. But you can turn me in. You can save whoever. . .whoever didn't just. . ." he caught himself, finally looked up. "Please, Blair."

Maybe it would buy them time, she thought. She could lead them to the wrong room. . .she could make them walk slowly, pretend she was terrified. . .she could buy time until the police came in and stopped the madness. She could be a hero. She took a deep breath, reached out a laid a hand on Chuck's face. Gently she ran her thumb along his top lip.

"Okay," she said. "I'll go, Bass. But I'm _not_ going to let them kill you."

"Chuck blinked twice, smiled a little bit. "You do always get what you want, don't you, Waldorf?"

"Except for you," she whispered, and turned to leave.

"I'm sorry," he said, just as she reached the door. "I'm sorry. Blair, I l—"

"Don't say it," Blair said. "Not now. It's my turn to ask for something, Chuck." She didn't turn around, just kept that hand on the doorknob. Her knees were shaking. "Not now."

He didn't respond, and she didn't turn, just opened the door and stepped into the hallway, praying that nobody would shoot her before she had a chance to say her piece.

* * * * *

Dan was still sitting in the courtyard when he heard the wail of the sirens. He glanced up from his pad of paper – he was on the fifteenth page, and he thought it just might be the best thing that he'd ever written. It didn't take long for the police to dispatch the one remaining man in the courtyard – five men were able to overpower one, easily enough. Dan decided that this would probably be a good moment to come forward.

He stuck his hands high above his head, as he'd seen in movies (though, he realized belatedly, the yellow shirt and tie probably also alerted them that he wasn't a villain).

"Hey, kid!" one of the policeman shouted to him. "You a student here?"

"At St. Jude's," Dan clarified. He waited patiently for them to ask him more questions, not really certain what his place was.

"We got a call – two calls, actually – that there was a shooting here. Can you verify that?"

"Well. . .um. . .there's a body," Dan said, pointing toward where Clearwater's body still lay, exactly where he'd fallen. The two cops not busy handcuffing the gunman hurried over to examine the body.

"Where are they now?" the first man asked. "The gunmen, that is."

"I don't know," Dan said truthfully. He pointed back toward his rhododendron bush. "I hid behind those flowers. Everyone else ran inside. The men followed them."

"Okay," the policeman frowned. He had a dark, honest looking face. Curly gray hair peeped out from beneath his cap. "How many were there?"

"I don't know. . ." Dan frowned. "I saw three enter here. But there are two other entrances. . .I don't know if anyone came in through there."

The cop pulled a walkie talkie from his belt, clicked it on. "We're going to need back-up at the school," he said. "Shooting verified. We have one of the hostages, one of the gunmen."

"Um, ex-excuse me," Dan muttered, holding up a hand in dissent. "I'm not exactly a hostage. . .they didn't even know I was here."

"All right, kid," the policeman said, pointing toward one of the benches. "I need you to sit there. I'll have some more questions for you after I finish with this guy."

"Listen, I heard some other gunshots from inside," Dan said. "Maybe you should. . .you know, go in first and ask questions later?"

"How many shots?" the cop asked.

"I don't know," Dan frowned. "Seven, eight? I wasn't exactly counting."

"Damn it," The captain pulled off his hand, ran a hand over his head before replacing the cap. He had a receding hairline. Writer's noticed details like that, Dan thought proudly.

"Just. . .hold on there, okay?" the cop didn't wait for an answer, just walked off and began arguing with the two officers standing by Clearwaters' body. Dan sat on the bench, considering the situation. He wasn't sitting long, though, before he heard his name called from just beyond the gate. Looking up he saw his father running toward him, though one of the officers who had apprehended the gunman held him back at the entrance. Dan glanced nerously toward the captain who had told him to wait, then figured hat a few steps wouldn't make a difference.

"Dad!" he said, walking toward his father. Two other figures behind him. Vanessa, and Lily Bass.

"Dan, oh, thank God!" Rufus said, breaking free of the officer and grabbing his son in a hug. Somewhat uncomfortable, Dan hugged him back.

"I'm fine, Dad, I'm okay," he said, pulling back. His father's eyes searched his face.

"Jenny? Where's you sister?"

"I. . .I don't know," Dan admitted, and guilt suddenly wracked his body. Where _was_ Jenny? Was she okay? While he'd been more or less comfortable squatting behind the bushes, his sister could have been shot. What about Serena, Nate, or even – and here the guilt intensified – Ms. Carr? It was with a sudden jolt that he realized how cowardly he'd been. _How smart_ one portion of his brain argued. He couldn't listen to that part.

"Mrs. Van der – Bass," Dan nodded to the other woman. "I'm sorry, I don't know where Serena or Erik are. But I'm sure they're fine."

"Mm-hmm," Lily said, her lips a tight, compressed white line. She didn't seem to be listening to a word she said, just kept staring at the school building. Dan followed his gaze, the sickening feeling spreading throughout his body. He didn't notice as Rufus' arm draped across his shoulders, or as Vanessa took his left hand in her own. The story he'd been writing drifted to the ground, forgotten.

Seven or eight shots. Seven or eight people who'd been hurt, might even be dead. He closed his eyes and shuddered.

Not Jenny, he thought. Not Nate. Not Serena.

In front of him, the police seemed to come to an agreement.

"All right," the captain said. "Let's go."

And from behind, a woman's clipped voice:

"Excuse me. I'm from News 12. Are you one of the hostages? Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

_**Wow! Blair's daydream coming true! Is she psychic? Meanwhile, poor Serena. . .or poor Nate? Or was it all just a played bluff anyway? Stay tuned!**_

_**Meanwhile, am I missing any other random little side characters from school? I'd love to fit them in there, but I just can't think of anyone else! Pathetic, no?**_

_**Also, get excited! It's almost time for my all-time favorite character to make an appearance. . .that's right! DOROTA!!!!**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Oh, the action is picking up now. We're nearing the end, my friends, and thank goodness, as my week of freedom is also nearing the end. All of the players are in place. Tick-tock, tick-tock,the clock is ticking. **_

Erik began trembling the moment he heard the gunshot over the loudspeaker. First it was his hands, but soon it had spread through his arms to his chest and down to his legs. He could barely take a step forward. Behind him the cold butt of the man's gun continued to prod him in his upper back. It hadn't scared him before, it had just been a reminder to keep moving. Now that steel terrified him.

_Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name_, Erik thought the words of the prayer he'd learned so long ago, when his mother had sent him to that parochial pre-school. Lily would have been surprised to know it, but the sacred verses had helped him through some dark times, and if Erik Van der Woodsen didn't exactly believe in God, he had just enough curiosity to remember the lines.

_Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven_.

They turned down one more corner – the last corner, Erik knew. He could see the office door ahead. He had to keep his eyes open. He had to keep walking. The man behind him pushed more insistently. He was worried, or nervous. Erik just kept seeing flashes of blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. He'd heard of seeing a life pass before one's eyes just before death – was it possible to see someone _else's_ life?

_Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses_.

At the masked man's insistance, he put out his hand to the door, began to turn the knob.

_As we forgive those --- as we forgive those – _He was stuck on this one. Could he forgive those? If they had really shot his sister, could he forgive them? About that, he wasn't sure.

The door opened and his eyes cast around the room. He ignored the faces huddled on the ground, ignored the man standing anxiously over the intercome. He was looking for just one face –

And then rather than finding it he was enveloped in it, as his sister flung herself from the floor to wrap her long body around his shorter frame.

"Erik! You're okay!" she said joyfully. She cradled his head against her chest. He could feel his hair being dampened by her tears. His own arms snaked around her body. His sister was okay, she was still alive.

_As we forgive those who trespass against us. _

"Touching," The man who had led Erik in snarled. "Any luck?"

Erik peeped out from Serena's cradling arms. "None," he said. "Shot didn't scare him out of hiding. Who'd you bring with you?"

"The brother," the man said.

"Bass was an only child."

"Step-brother, then. They all looked happy enough in those family photos. Figured another hostage couldn't hurt."

That was when Erik remembered. Ignoring all of the drama, he looked into his sister's face. "I heard the intercom," he said. "They were going to shoot you or Nate. Where – "

Serena gasped, as though she'd forgotten something, and nearly threw herself to the ground near the desk. Erik joined her a moment later. He saw the masked men glancing at him and his sister, but as long as they weren't attacking, the men didn't seem to care.

A pair of shoes were poking out from around the corner. Erik drew in a deep breath. He wasn't sure that he wanted to see this.

"He's still alive," Serena said. She looked up at him over Nate's body. Erik shuddered. Nate was lying straight out, his eyes open and fixed on the ceiling. His chest was moving as he gasped in short, shallow breaths. A yellow shirt was being pressed tightly to his lower chest by Serena. Her hand was bloody, Erik noticed in distraction. Had it been bloody a minute ago? Over her shoulder, Pete Sempras sat in just his undershirt and a terrified expression. Figured, Erik couldn't help but think. Even in the middle of all the chaos, Sempras would figure out a way to get his shirt off.

"We need to get him out of here," Serena whispered. "I mean, this can't be good. Being shot in the. . .in the. . .well, wherever he was shot, exactly. He doesn't answer when I talk to him, either."

Erik nodded, and scooted over so that he was directly beside the other boy. Nate's eyes rolled a little in their sockets to try and focus on him. It was a terrifying motion.

Erik reached out and smoothed a sweaty lock of hair away from the boy's forehead. He hadn't known Nate very well – he was his sister's friend, not his. Still. He was beautiful, Erik had always known that. And he'd always been kind, considerate.

"You're going to be okay," Erik whispered. "We'll get you out of this."

As Serena had said, Nate didn't respond verbally. But his eyes remained focused on Erik's face. Disturbed, Erik turned to his sister again.

"And what about. . ." he had to gulp down bile that rose into his throat at the thought. One sibling saved, but one still out there. "What about Chuck?"

"I don't know," Serena shrugged. "I was with him at the beginning, but then he and Blair just disappeared. I don't know. Maybe they escaped."

"How?" Erik asked. "Jenny and I tried two exits before we were caught. They were all guarded."

"Then maybe he's found somewhere safe to hide," Serena shrugged. "I don't blame him."

"He wouldn't just hide," Erik said stubbornly.

"Chuck isn't exactly a knight in shining armor," Serena pointed out. She leaned forward to apply more pressure to Nate's wound as the boy coughed. A little bubble of blood appeared on his lips. Erik flinched back for a moment, before recovering himself. He pulled the tie off from around his neck and gently dabbed at the man's bloody mouth.

"He wouldn't just hide. Not when you and Nate were threatened," He said insistently. Inside, though, he wasn't so sure. In a way, too, he was hoping that Chuck _was_ merely hiding. He didn't want to see anyone else dead. He certainly didn't want to die, and he didn't want Serena to, but the thought of Chuck walking into that room was almost equally awful. After all that he'd been through. . .

There was a click from above, as the intercom was turned on. "All right, Bass, one down. The girls's next. And, just so you know, stakes are raised. We've got your brother in here, too. So if you want the Van der Woodsen's getting out alive, you'd better show up soon."

Erik's eyes met Serena's over Nate's hitching body. He'd been so focused on finding his sister, that he'd forgotten what the consequences for that were. And then, as if there weren't enough things to worry about, with Nate bleeding out in front of his eyes, his sister and himself slated for certain death, and his step-brother who knew where, the door opened.

"Hello," a familiar voice said. "My name is Blair Waldorf, and I've come to report that I know the where-abouts of one Charles Bass."

* * * *

Blair almost cried when the door shut behind her. Almost, but not quite. In all truth, she wasn't sure that she _could_ cry anymore. It seemed like all of the tears had already leaked out of her during the tension-filled moments under the sink. And she'd _certainly _spent more than enough tears on a certain Bass over the years.

Though she didn't want him to be killed. No, she thought back to that horrible night on top of Victrola, his one-legged balancing act, the near topple to the street below. No, she certainly didn't want him to die.

She figured, though, that the odds were in her favor. The police were nearby—surely they would save everyone soon. Though she had to admit that her faith in the NYPD had never been very high. All that she had to do was delay them a little bit. Find the office quickly, then make an introduction. Then she'd take them down the correct hallway, but to the wrong room. She'd claim that Chuck had been there, that he must have just left. And by then, of course, the police would have arrived. Nobody would have to die.

Blair straightened her back as she strode toward the office. No deaths sounded very good to her. Until the blasted intercome went on.

"All right, Bass, one down. The girls's next. And, just so you know, stakes are raised. We've got your brother in here, too. So if you want the Van der Woodsen's getting out alive, you'd better show up soon."

Her shoot caught in a groove, her ankle twisted. She, Blair Waldorf, tripped within the halls of Constance Billard. In her three years at the school that had _never_ happened. She took a deep breath and straightened herself.

So Serena was still alive. Something released within her, a tension she hadn't recognized until that moment. Serena was still alive. That was good. But that meant Nate. . .

The damned tears reappeared. She didn't know whether to be angry at Chuck, or devastated for him. Nate didn't deserve to die – of all the people in the world that she knew, Nathaniel Archibald was among the best of them. He certainly didn't deserve to die, especially not in the place of his irresponsible, insensitive, back-stabbing, womanizing, alcoholic and altogether reprehensible best friend.

At the same time, it was completely possible that Chuck would die when he found out.

But Serena was still alive. Blair caught on to that lifeline. Nothing had changed, she reminded herself. She'd known someone had been shot. Now she just knew who. Nothing had changed. She still had to save the day, she still have to make sure that she and those that she loved most made it out of this alive.

She was almost at the door. Where _were_ the police? She pushed it open.

"Hello. My name is Blair Waldorf, and I've come to report that I know the where-abouts of one Charles Bass."

An entire string of activity hit her, just then. A man she hadn't even noticed grabbed her from the side of the door. Erik and Serena's faces suddenly popped up over the side of the secretary's desk, identical expressions on their faces. A man was barking out orders, too quickly to understand. Pete Sempras stood up. He didn't have on his shirt. And, as suddenly as she'd walked in, Blair suddenly found herself in the hallway again.

"Let's go," the man behind her barked. "And nothing funny. The Van der Woodsen's are right behind us. One wrong move, missy, and all three of you get lead in your brains. Understood."

"Y-yes," Blair whispered. Dear God, what had she gotten herself into?

_**Thank you, once again to all of my faithful reviewers! **_


	8. Chapter 8

_**Okay, now I am desperately trying to finish before my dentist appointment this afternoon, because I loathe the dentist and will likely fall into a deep depression following the visit. (: So, two chapters right in a row! This one's a little shorter – my apologies but I just couldn't resist ending with the last line. Just one, maybe two chapters left to go!**_

Lily tried to wear a perfect mask of composure. She was playing a role, she reminded herself. One she'd been born to play. So she stood behind the tape with the other anxious parents, most of whom had seen the announcement on the news, some on the radio, and a few lucky ones who had received messages from their children inside the school. Lucky, because at least they knew their children were alive.

Rufus stood beside her, one arm around her waist, the other still over Dan's shoulders. He hadn't let go of the boy since they'd been reunited. Lily didn't blame him. But she was jealous. He had two children to keep safe, and one of them he knew was all right. Her? Her two babies were in there, no news on them. And Charles, as well, that poor damaged boy who'd been through hell and back the last few months. And Serena's friends, Blair and Nate, who had practically grown up beside her own children.

Her insides were roiling and pacing. She had to blink back tears consistently. Rufus saw it, the nerves and tension, and he kissed her every now and again, light and reassuring, a peck on the cheek, a reminder of love. Nobody else would see it, though, she was sure. She was as perfect and still as a Greek statue.

Suddenly her elbow was bumped, and she nearly toppled sideways into Rufus. She was too shocked and too scared to protest.

"So sorry," an accented voice said. Lily shrugged her shoulders. The woman was wearing a maid's uniform. Strange, she thought. She couldn't imagine that any maid could afford to have a student at the expensive private school.

"What is this tape?" the maid asked in annoyance, and then abruptly plucked it aside and began marching toward the school. Lily's jaw dropped in amazement.

An officer immediately spotted the deranged maid and headed over to intercept her.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, nobody not wearing NYPD blue is allowed near."

"Near what?" the maid said. "Near school? I come here lots. I hear there shooting here, I come. Excuse me."

"I'm sorry," The officer said, still impassive. Rufus pulled Lily closer to her side.

"You be very sorry when I'm done with you," the maid said officiously. "Now. Shooting not acceptable. Ms. Waldorf not pleased. I get Ms. Blair, I take her home immediately."

A small smile danced across Lily's lips. Of course Eleanor would miss the gravity of the situation, and grasp only its relevance to her life. And of course she would send that pushy maid rather than leaving work. How typical of the Upper East Side.

The officer pulled the maid to the side, despite her protestations and complaints about "Ms. Blair" and "Ms. Serena" and "Mr. Chuck." Lily shook her head.

A few minutes later the officer finally managed to force the crazy maid back behind the tape and came to speak to the assembled parents, friends, and media.

"All right, folks, all of our men are in position and we're going to enter the building. We've been unable to make any form of contact with the perpetrators without side. If anyone's religious, now would be the time to pray."

Rufus's arm dropped from her waist to grasp her hand. Forcefully he intertwined their fingers. Lily took a deep breath. She'd never been very religious. She hadn't raised the children with Sunday School or Bible Camp. She had, however, been married four times, and some of that had to rub off on a person.

Rufus' thumb gently traced over her knuckles. "They'll be okay," he whispered. Lily nodded tightly.

Statue's didn't crumble, marble didn't crack. And although her heart was doing somersaults inside her chest, Lily Bass did not allow a single muscle on her face to twitch.

* * * *

Chuck paced the room twice. He opened the window once. He pounded his fist into the blackboard three times. And then he sat down.

He hadn't liked the look of her back as she'd walked out the room. He hadn't been able to read it, the line of her back, the set of her shoulders. Was she angry? Determined? Disappointed?

It couldn't be the last, Chuck decided. After all, he was willing to give himself up, to sacrifice himself for the good of the rest. Of all times, she couldn't be disappointed with him _now_.

Though she'd had plenty of practice, he realized. As had he. In fact, it was as though he'd been rehearsing for this moment all of his life. The last time she would leave him.

The first time had been the debutante ball. He hadn't been man enough to fight for her, to fight to keep her from Nate. Instead he'd played the cowardly villain, trying to sabotage everything to keep her.

The second time had been the video incident. He'd been so hurt, so jealous. Again, he hadn't been man enough to fight. Only man enough to send a message to Gossip Girl.

She'd left him again at the jitney in the Hamptons. He hadn't been man enough to go with her to Tuscany, to accept himself.

She'd left him again a few days later. He hadn't been man enough to say the three words she'd needed to hear.

She'd left him again on the rooftop in Brooklyn, when he hadn't been man enough to accept a truce. He'd insisted on childish games.

She'd left him again at the Palace, when he hadn't been man enough to accept his position, and to accept her love.

And now she was leaving him again. But wasn't he being a man now? Wasn't he owning up?

Chuck pushed himself off the ground, walked over to the chalkboard. He barely heard the intercom as it roared again, something about one down. He heard the word Van der Woodsen. He picked up a piece of chalk.

_I'm Chuck Bass_, he wrote on the board.

Why had she been so willing to leave? It wasn't like Blair to give up without a fight.

_I'm Chuck Bass_, he wrote again. Unless she wasn't giving up – unless she was playing an entirely new game.

_I'm Chuck Bass_.

She wasn't going to turn him in, he realized with a start. She was going to play, was going to risk herself. And even if she did turn him in, even if she did lead those men straight to this room, she had the harder role. She'd have to live with the guilt. All he'd have to do was die.

_I'm Chuck Bass_.

And, he realized, maybe the leaving wasn't what he'd been rehearsing. There was, after all, another thing he'd been doing his entire life, another game he'd been playing. The guns, the intercom, the deaths. . .it had nothing to do with _them_, nothing to do with the game. It was just about him. Alone. As he'd always been.

Yes, he thought, he'd had plenty of practice at this one thing. So he went to the door, his feet purposeful now. After all, he had nothing to lose. He never really had.

He opened the door, not terribly surprised to see Blair one door down, her hand on the knob, her mouth open in a perfect little "o". He wasn't shocked to see Serena and Erik huddled behind her, guns pointed at their heads. This was how it was meant to be. Everyone on one side of the line, and him alone at the other.

"Hello," He said, his voice echoing in the now silent corridor. The gunmen turned to look at him. Chuck smirked a little.

"I'm Chuck Bass."

_**As always, thanks to those few but faithful reviewers. I've never been a review-hound, but it's a true pleasure when updating to see those little notices. Obviously, it takes a while to write a story. It's nice to see that it's appreciated. (:**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Go ahead, tell me how much you love me. Last two chapters here and up. Just be glad I finished writing before going to the dentist. (:**_

_**  
This one is kind of dense, but it sets up the final chapter well, and explains why everyone is after Chuck. Enjoy!**_

Dan O'Leery had never been in a situation like this before. Granted, he'd only been on the force four years, but this was just unbelievable. A hold-up at a private school,without any apparent motive. No ransoms were being asked for, no demands made. It was as though the gunmen inside cared absolutely nothing for the outside world. Not a terrorist stunt but a carefully engineered military coup. But who in their right mind would want to take over a private school filled with rich, spoiled brats?

The Humphrey kid had said there'd been shots inside, and just ten minutes prior they'd heard one themselves. A little screaming had even made it through the ivy-colored walls. It still didn't make sense. The kidnappers should have made demands, should have _wanted_ something. Obviously they were going to be caught. Obviously they wouldn't get away with what they were doing. But still, nobody came out.

So they'd have to go in. Calling the school line had been moot – nobody had picked up. They didn't dare call one of the students inside, not without knowing the situation. They had no idea who these men were or where they came from. As far as anyone could guess, they'd just walked off the subway and into the school.

He touched the comforting weight of the gun at his side. What was the point? What kind of a criminal did this kind of thing, to kids? He shook his head. Some sick bastards inside there.

The captain ahead nodded back at them, his gestures curt and to the point. O'Leary took a deep breath, and then followed his captain into the school.

* * * *

Pete Sempras was more than just a little shocked when they left. Waldorf came in, all prim and proper like the little princess she believed herself to be, and then everyone just left. Just like that. The two gunmen had grabbed Serena and her little brother and they'd all left, just ignorng the kids still in the office.

Pete crawled over to where Archibald was still lying on the ground. They'd played lacrosse together, been friends. Obviously after the situation with the father, that had ended, but Pete had always felt a littel sorry for the other boy. Not his fault, after all. So, while the other students in the office milled around, uncertain whether it was safe to run out of the building, he put his hand on the now-ruined shirt, and pressed it tightly to the wound.

Nate Archibald might still die. In fact, Pete realized, as he looked at the unfocused blue eyes, as the breath hitched a little more shallow, a little less often, he probably _would_ still die. But not because nobody tried to help him.

Hero. Pete chuckled as he pressed in to the bloody shirt. He had no illusions about being a hero. He was closer to being a villain, all truth be told, though he'd never quite achieved the infamy of Chuck Bass. Even the bad guys had moments of goodness.

"D-dad?" Archibald asked.

"Possibly," Pete agreed amiably. "Forgot a condom a few times."

Archibald didn't say anything else. Neither did Pete Sempras.

* * * *

The intercom sent Jenny into tears. She'd known it was coming, knew it the moment that Erik had walked out of the room. Still, the stark reality _hurt_. The tears kept coming, so much that she didn't even bother to wipe them away. Tears out of her eyes, hiccups from her chest, and even, she was pretty certain, a thin line of snot running from her nose.

"That is so disgusting," Iz said. She reached into her purse and handed Jenny a small packet of Klee-nex. "Blow," the girl said. "_Please_."

Jenny, unable at this point to think for herself, took the proferred tissure. She wiped away the snot, the tears, and then obediently blew into the tissue.

"Look at it this way," Iz offered. "They're obviously panicking over something. The police must be here. We'll be saved in no time."

No time. Jenny allowd a small smile to peek out. Maybe the older girl was right. She just hoped that "no time" was short enough to keep her best friend alive and breathing.

* * * *

Ralph Diggs was beginning to feel as upset as the students, with their wide eyes and trembling lips. He hadn't fired his gun – not yet – and he'd hoped he wouldn't have to. In all of his life he'd never imagined himself a criminal. He'd never even shoplifted, and here he was, holding a gun to the head of a poor little rich boy.

The worst was that it was his own fault, and he knew that. He'd been driving the car when it had crashed. He'd seen the truck coming, he'd swerved to avoid it. He shouldn't have done that. If he hadn't swerved it would have hit _his _side, _he'd_ have been in the hospital. Not his wife. Not his baby girl.

But he'd swerved into the guardrail, and it had practically ripped off the passenger's half of the car. He'd been knocked unconscious, a concussion, big deal. His wife was in a coma, still. His baby girl needed surgery. And his medical insurance had run out. He couldn't pay th hospital bills. Maddie couldn't have surgery. She'd never be able to walk again. . .she might never be able to get out of that damn hospital bed.

So when Jack Bass, CEO of the managing company for his small office supply store, had approached him, he'd listened. He'd known the consequences – a certain jail sentence, possible death. But he'd also known the rewards – the hospital paid off, Maddie's surgeries taken care of. His wife would stay alive until they figured out a way to fix whatever had gone wrong with her brain.

So he'd said yes. Broken and torn, and wrackd with guilt, he'd said yes.

But with the weight of a gun in his hand, and that poor little Van der Wood kid looking like a frightened fawn, he wasn't so sure this is what he should be doing.

Some of the other men were like him. Devastated by tragedy, unable to understand the decisions they were making. And some were just cold, calculating killers, confident in the Bass money's ability to keep them out of the chair, confident in their own abilities to avoid life sentences. Banking on the millions of dollars potentially coming their way.

Those were the men who had shot the kids.

Those were the men who made him sick.

He'd been able to deal, up until a point. When it had been posturing, and other men's hands getting dirty, he'd been able to deal. Until, that was, the door had opened, and the young man had walked out, hands spread open, those words coming out of his mouth.

"Hello. I'm Chuck Bass."

Because the instructions had been very clear about this. Anyone who saw Bass, anyone who let the boy walk away with his head still on his shoulders lost the money. All of it. And, for that matter, lost what little protection Jack offered.

Ralph's hands trembled on the gun. He was just a kid. Eyes red-rimmed and wide, hair sweaty and mussed. His hands were trembling. His face was white. There was a smirk on his face, but it was all posturing. His eyes were darting around, to his friend's faces, to the barrels of the three guns that were pointing at him.

"No, Chuck, don't," the Van der Woodsen boy said. The brunette was more confident.

"Roman, what are you doing?" she sneered. "Where's Chuck?"

The boy looked at her, confused. The blond tried to smile.

"This is no time for heroics, Roman," she said. "Let's just give them what they want."

"I'm what they want," the boy said, a little uncertain now. Ralph kept the gun focused on that body. It didn't matter what the kids said. Jack Bass had shown them all a picture. He had it, even now, tucked into the back of his pockets. There was no doubt who this kid was.

He clicked the safety off his gun. Out of the side of his gaze, he saw Don and Ed do the same. Ed was a good man, too. Blackmailed into being here, something to do with his sons. Don, though. . .Ralph was surprised that Don hadn't fired yet.

From just feet away the corridor door burst open. The tableau was broken as everyone turned to see the police officers entering the school, their guns lifted and ready. Don rolled his eyes.

"Well, boys, we all knew this was coming," he said, and pointed the gun at the Bass boy's chest.

A shot rang out, and then another. Two more, and then the hallway was quiet. Ralph was on his hands and knees, his gaze focused on the ground. Had he been hit? He didn't think so. Nothing hurt.

He didn't dare to look up. Four shots. Three from the policemen. One from Don.

In the hallway, on his hands and knees, Ralph Diggs began to cry.


	10. Chapter 10

_Well, UESiders, disaster over. But before we get back to school, lies, and videotapes tomorrow, let's take a moment to remember the fallen. Service is at 11:30. _

_Xoxo_

_Gossip Girl_

Blair Waldorf was perfectly attired for the occassion. She wasn't wearing black, of course, that was simply too morbid. But a solemn, navy blue did the job just as well. Sh stood next to her best friend, grasped her by the elbow.

"I can't believe it," Serena whispered. "I mean. . .Constance Billard. . .Jack. . .Chuck. . ."

"Shh, honey, I know," Blair said comfortingly. Not that her own eyes were dry. But she'd had time to cope, to rebuild herself after the horror. It was the mark of a Waldorf, after all, to continue strong when everything and everyone around you was crumbling to pieces. She patted Serena gently on the shoulder.

"It's over, S. It's over."

"I don't know, B," Serena said. "I mean, I've dealt with this before. . .with killing. It doesn't just go away."

Blair didn't know what to say to that. So she just stood, a rock of calm.

The entire Upper East Side was there, or so it seemed at first glance. The Humphrey's stood together in a tight clique, excluding everyone but Vanessa Abrams. Even Lily hadn't felt comfortable within the group.

Penelope and Hazel huddled together, Nelly Yuki on the fringes as ever. Iz stood in the middle, the new glory of Constance Billard. When word had gotten out that she had been the only student to get a phone call to the police from inside the school, her rep had instantly skyrocketed. Blair was willing to concede queenship to her minion. If the crown had to be passed to anyone, she was glad that it went to the most respectful of the trollops.

Pete Sempras similarly was bathing in accolades. People kept applauding him for his attempts to keep Nate alive. Pete always just shrugged it off, said, "It was my shirt that's the real hero. I could take if off for you, if you'd like to see." Which, in Blair's opinion was both tasteless and foolish. Any idiot knew that bloodstains didn't come out easily, and there was no way the perfect yellow button down was the same one from the day of the shooting.

Erik and Lily held hands just behind Serena, her back set to that solid foundation. Dorota stood to Blair's left. Eleanor, of course, was nowhere to be found.

Yes, at first glance everyone from the Upper East Side was in attendence. Upon a second look, however, some were noticeably absent. No Timothy Clearwater, though his parents stood sobbing at the front of the funeral parlor. No Abigail Scranton. No Tony Arturo. No Andrea Walters. No Samuel Fidelis. No Daisy Vitale. No Mr. Thomas.

No Ms. Carr.

No Nathanial Archibald.

No Chuck Bass.

Tears pricked again at Blair's eyes, and she brushed them away angrily. No. She was over the crying. It just dried out her skin and made her eyes disastrous. She'd cried for two day straight. She was done. _Done_.

Now it was Serena comforting her, placing her arms around the slighter girls' frame, pulling her in close to the sunshine.

"Blair, come on," Serena said. "Let's get out of here. This is too depressing."

Blair nodded her head, and accepted her friends hand. Together they walked out of the funeral home. Erik, wordlessly, squeezed his mother's hand and followed behind them.

"That could have been us in there," Blair said, her voice hitching. Serena nodded her head.

"It almost was."

It was Erik who stepped into the street, raised a hand, and hailed the cab.

* * * *

Dan watched as they left. He wasn't surprised to see Blair go. He had little regard for the girl, and whenever she showed a sign of being human, and he actually felt a well of respect within him, she woud do something heinous to release it.

He was more surprised when Serena and Erik followed. He watched the golden head disappear out of the door. He thought about following. Once upon a time he would have. But even he knew that now, that time was past.

He should never have shown Ms. Carr the papers. He should never opened the door to her that one night. He should never has kissed her. He didn't love her, he wasn't so naive as to believe that. He was honored and touched that she wanted him. He was impressed with himself at having an older woman. But he wasn't in love.

She'd resigned after the shooting. Word had gotten around about the situation in the bathroom, about her willingness to let Isabel Coates wander into harms' way. She hadn't been fired, of course – irregular circumstances and all – but even she realized that between this and the accusations Blair had levied against her, she had no future at Constance Billard.

Dan wasn't sure where she was now. He didn't really care.

His story was almost finished. It was lying on his desk at home. He wasn't sure how to finish it, though, wasn't altogether certain what the last chapter was going to be. The last chapter had to be the best, he knew that. It would determine whether the story was inspirational or just tragic, whether there was hope, or a message of darkness and reality. Originally he'd been intending to end tragic, mired in the real, in the death and pain.

But as the funeral home's door closed, blotting out the last rays' of the sun, he wasn't so sure anymore. After all, what was the point of a reality without hope?

* * * *

Erik's legs felt like lead. He'd tried to explain that to the therapist the other day, but hadn't quite been able to get across what he meant. His legs felt like lead, but his feet felt like they could fly.

It had been so horrible. Worse than the Ostroff Center, worse than those last moments when he'd been watching the blood leakdown the bathtub drain. He'd been terrified for his friends and his family.

But he'd made it through. They'd made it through, and that made him feel like anything was possible.

He helped Serena out of the cab after they pulled up to Mercy Hospital. He reached in to help Blair was well, but she shrugged off the hand and pushed herself to her feet. She slung the purse over her shoulders and marched forcefully through the doors.

The nurses glanced up when they entered, but didn't even bother to write down their names. They'd been in the previous days, and it was such a hassle to get them to stand still and fill in forms. For that one reason, Erik was glad that Blair had a fierce temper and was used to getting her way.

Room 127A. Serena would have knocked, probably. Erik certainly would have. Blair Waldorf, of course, knocked for no man. Erik shook his head sadly as she forced her way into the room.

Again, Erik's legs felt like lead but his feet felt like they could fly. Because there they were, Nate pale and wan, hooked up to a thousand machines, beeping and clicking, but _alive_. And there was Chuck, sprawled in the chair beside him, mouth a little open, shoulder heavily bandaged, arm in a sling, but gloriously _alive_.

He stood at the door a moment, just looking at the four inside. His family. And Nate and Blair, and who really knew what they were, but they were a part of it somehow.

"Erik," Serena looked back, beckoned him to join her. "Come on in."

The three of them stood there a moment, arms linked, Blair and Erik tiny little bookends to the glorious pillar of Serena. He was sure they all had tears in their eyes, sobs hitching in their chests. Somehow, they had all made it.

"Go ahead, Waldorf," A voice drawled from the far chair. "We all know you want to harangue us about _something_."

Blair smiled, broke out of the trinity, only to walk over to Chuck and, with a sweet smile, grind her heel into his toes. He opened his eyes with a small shout, and sat upright, staring at her with amazement in his hazel eyes.

"You could have gone to the funeral," she said, staring pointedly at his sling. "Unlike Nate, you're half-machine."

"I resent that," Nate said drowsily. Serena smiled and patted his hand.

"I couldn't go," Chuck said, and his voice was flat. Erik winced, praying that Blair wouldn't press the issue. Chuck had come a long way over the past few days, but he knew that his brother still blamed himself for those deaths.

Blame that should only be placed on Jack Bass, Erik thought angrily. Jack Bass who, as far as anyone could tell, had only wanted revenge. He knew he couldn't get the company back – Chuck's death would only have secured Lily's position as heiress. But after he'd been caught, and after Lily and Chuck had explained what happened at the opera a month ago, it had become clear that Jack Bass had jumped off the deep end.

The news had said he'd filed a plea of insanity in court.

Blair sighed. "It wasn't your fault, Bass," she said, and before he had the chance to protest, she leaned down and kissed him full on the mouth. Serena giggled, and leaned over to lock eyes with her brother. Erik could feel a smile on his own face. From the hospital bed Nate groaned.

"Seriously, guys? Haven't I been through enough? Do I really have to watch that, too?"

_GG here, with some thrilling news. On the are-they-or-aren't-they radar, Isabel Coates and Pete Sempras. I have it on good notice that the biggest new hero on the UES might need some rescuing of her own._

_Lonelyboy is back, folks, but don't worry, rumor has it that he's got a publishing deal in the works. When his face is on booksleeves across the world I'll doubt he's worried about a little lack of romance._

_B and S, back to school, and back to being besties. But what's this? Our twosome is knocked up to four, as a certain Bass and Archibald seem to be licking at the ladies heels._

_You know you love me,_

_Xoxo_

_Gossip Girl_

_**The end! Yea!!! Thanks again to all of the faithful reviewers, I hope that I didn't let anyone down too badly.**_

_**I repressed my urges to force my favorite (albeit crackbrained) ships upon all of you. In other words: rejoice that there was no Rufus/Dorota nor Nate/Erik. I kept it nice and canon. **_

_**Until next time!**_

_**JD**_


End file.
